


When the Apocalypse Comes

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [22]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jared, Consensual Kink, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Lingerie, M/M, Male Lactation, Nipple Play, Porn with Feelings, Post Mpreg, Rimming, Sexy Times, Slice of Life, Smut, Timestamp, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Has the zombie apocalypse arrived? Probably not.</p><p>This is less about zombies and more about Jared wearing something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Apocalypse Comes

Jensen knows something is off when he doesn’t wake up to three separate pairs of elbows digging into his back on a Sunday morning.

He wakes up somewhat naturally, bothered by the lack of noise, then disturbed when he doesn’t knock into another pair of feet on the other side of the bed. Upon further groping around in the king sized bed, there is a distinct lack of wild hair splayed all over the edge of his pillow and he has way too many blankets draped over himself.

What gives?

Rolling over and sitting up, Jensen ignores the pops in his joints and the faint soreness in his shoulders.

Work has been crazy—May is always a busy month—but he’s got a sneaking suspicion that their mattress has seen better days. As he rubs the muscles he can reach, he listens for signs of breakfast or the kids possibly having overtaken Jared and the guys. A coup wouldn’t really be a far stretch for those three; the older they get, the more they realize they can get away with if allowed.

Adolescence, Jensen predicts, is not going to be a walk in the park.

A little more awake than pre-stretching, he ambles over to the bathroom where he pees, brushes his teeth, _and_ combs his hair completely alone. As he steps out in sweats and an undershirt he is convinced that the zombie apocalypse has started. He’s not upset that Jared didn’t have time to wake him up, he’s just a little miffed that he slept that soundly when on any other night any sound outside their house causes him to wake up in a start. Twice this year, Jensen woke up, ready to throw punches at two in the morning, only to discover that their neighborhood has had an influx of raccoons. Both times, Jared swatted his ass and yawned at him to stop being so damn paranoid.

Whatever. Now that the zombie apocalypse has happened, what should be do? It’s eerily quiet in the house, which makes everything seem so much larger. Is it really this many steps down the hallway? When did the ceilings become the height of cathedrals?

Jensen calms himself down by relying on his knowledge of The Walking Dead. He might not be the next Rick Grimes, but he can change a tire and run, so those have to be two attributes in his favor. The thought that Jared, the guys, and the kids didn’t make it out alive doesn’t even cross his mind. They’re all much too resilient, even if Jared doesn’t know shit about cars. Jared’s from Texas and the guys have traveled the world.

Should he raid the fridge for supplies? When was the last time he replaced the batteries in the smoke detectors? What the hell does he care about smoke detectors now? What’s he going to do? Annoy a zombie to smithereens with one?

How much gas is in his car? Shit, maybe Jared took his car and the guys took the SUV. But why split up? This isn’t Scooby Doo. No one in their right mind splits up when it’s the end of the world.

Weapons. Those are probably important. His usual go-to is an aluminum bat kept hidden in their closet. Damn, why didn’t he grab that? Soundlessly making his way downstairs, Jensen listens for any signs of zombies in the house. What kind of zombies will he encounter? That’s the problem, his brain rattles off, all the zombies in movies, shows, and books are all homogenous. It’d be more realistic and way more challenging if the zombies varied from region to region.

With his luck, he hedges his bets on something more like walkers. So he’ll need something sharp to pierce through their skulls or slice off their heads. The fireplace poker might do. A knife from the kitchen won’t be enough, but he should grab it just in case.

On the last step, Jensen contemplates breaking into a store and grabbing a gun. Would he know how to work a gun? Rednecks have figured it out, shouldn’t be too difficult. But what if he ends up shooting himself in the foot? Or what if he shoots a civilian? Maybe he can steal a sword or a katana instead. He could never be as bad ass as Michonne, but fuck, any blade seems better than a rifle.

What’s it going to feel like to stab his first zombie?

Brains, guts, snarling teeth, red eyes…

“Jensen?”

Jensen stumbles and lands on his knees with a loud, “Fuck!”

Familiar steps rush over.

“Jen! Did you fall down?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen grumbles, pushing himself up and avoiding any offered help. He looks at Jared. “What kind of question is that, though? Did I fall down? Nope, just practicing crawling.”

Jared rolls his eyes. He turns away from Jensen, the ties of his robe flapping, and walks back to the living room. “ _Someone_ ,” Jared snips, “woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

It isn’t right for Jensen to wake up by himself. And it’s not his fault that he panics when he does.

“What are you doing?”

Seated, Jared stretches out. He picks up a rectangular object from the coffee table.

“Reading.”

“What?”

“You know… that thing that happens when I don’t have three kids screaming for snack time.”

“Re-ad-ing?”

The second Jared laughs, Jensen knows he’s off the hook for his previous grumpiness. Jared pats the cushion next to him. Jensen shuffles over, flopping down on the couch, taking in this blissful Sunday morning away from the title of parent. Judging by the state of Jared’s hair, he took a shower not too long ago. Silky strands have begun to form elegant waves; it’s half dry. Leaning in a little closer, Jared smells like fresh vanilla and fabric softener.

So the world didn’t end.

This is an okay alternative.

“Zoo?” he asks.

“Beach.”

“Hmm.”

“Then Grandmas’.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Yep.”

“Any chance of a sleepover?”

“Possibly,” Jared murmurs, glancing over at Jensen. “That depends.”

Although Jensen has been let off the hook, that doesn’t mean he himself isn’t on a hook. Jared’s got him hook, line, and sinker. Of course, Jared is well-aware of this.

Aside from the zombie apocalypse, Jensen worries about the flash of hesitation across Jared’s features. His brow furrows. He blushes. For a split second, Jared bites his lower lip and avoids eye contact with Jensen. Is he uncomfortable? Is Jensen sitting too close? Should he give Jared a bit of breathing room?

What if the zombie apocalypse _did_ happen and Jared’s just waiting to break it to Jensen?

Quietly, Jared breathes, “Promise you won’t think it’s weird.”

“Never,” Jensen blurts out. He clears his throat and places a hand on Jared’s knee. “I’d never think anything about you was weird. Well… except for your taste in music.”

The hint of a smile helps. Dimples peek out just slightly. “You love country just as much as I do, Punzel.”

“No one could love country as much as you do.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“If Garth Brooks appeared right now, what would happen?”

Laughing, Jared tosses his book back onto the coffee table. He slips his hand over Jensen’s and gives a sympathetic squeeze. “Oh, lord, we’d have to have a very difficult talk.”

“You’d leave me?” Jensen turns on the puppy eyes.

“Of course not,” Jared huffs. “I can have y’all both.”

“What if I don’t wanna share?”

“You’d learn.”

“Nuh uh. Old dog. New tricks. Don’t work.”

Somehow, the little space between them closes, and Jensen congratulates himself on being a mere two inches away from a kiss. His eyes can’t decide where to focus—Jared’s pouty, pink mouth or his sparkling, slightly shy hazel eyes.

Jared’s breath hitches when Jensen licks his lips. The grip he has on Jensen’s hand also tightens in response. It’s good that Jared’s hooked Jensen; Jensen hooks him right back.

“I… you…” Jared’s eyes flutter, but they focus a second later. “Jen, you’re distracting me.”

“Thought you wanted to be ‘distracted’.”

“Well… yes… but…”

“But?”

Their position on the couch changes. Jared sits facing Jensen straight on, holding both of his hands. This has to be serious. The house is theirs for the foreseeable future and they aren’t a mess of sweaty limbs and desperate words yet. Jensen notices that the pale blue robe Jared usually wears is currently tied tightly around him, instead of its usual haphazard loop.

After he takes a deep breath, Jared finally gets to the point.

“I’m… sensitive. I mean… just… right here.” He grabs Jensen’s right hand and places it on the center of his chest. Inch by inch, he brushes Jensen’s hand over, until he cups Jared’s right…

“They just… it’s just temporary,” Jared stammers out. “Hormones are all kinds of crazy right now and I might even start… leaking? I just don’t want you to freak out.”

Jared’s chest looks and feels a lot like it did when he was pregnant.

Eyes wide, Jensen asks, “Are you…?”

Immediately, Jared replies with a simple, “No, Jen. I’m not.”

Jensen’s stomach finishes its flip. He nods. Holy shit. He was sort of prepared for Jared to be pregnant if that was the case, but he also finds relief in the actual answer. They’ve been careful these past five years. Teenagers having sex for the first time kind of careful. It wouldn’t be terrible if it happened spontaneously, but Jensen knows, without Jared ever having to say it, that Jared would appreciate purposeful planning. His birthday present in March was to let him know that the opportunity is there.

He slides his hand down and splays his fingers across the slightly soft but always warm expanse of Jared’s middle. Their eyes meet. Jensen presses his fingertips in, adding a fraction more pressure.

Finally, their lips meet.

Within seconds, it’s steamy.

Long fingers untie the inconvenient robe. Jensen slides his hands up it, impatient, squeezing Jared’s thighs and groping his pert, generous ass. No one has a better ass. No one has a better kiss. No one has a better, breathier moan than Jared.

The robe furls open.

And suddenly, Jensen believes in heaven.

Because this _has_ to be it.

Underneath the familiar robe lies a blush silk and lace babydoll.

Simple, nearly sheer, beautifully cut, the babydoll highlights the sumptuous, delicate curve to Jared’s chest. And there, pushing up against the fabric, are two tight, peaked nipples begging for attention.

The zombie apocalypse could be underway and Jensen would still have no fucking clue.

He leans forward and pins Jared down onto the couch, capturing his mouth with one confident, swift movement. Their lips blaze from instant electricity. Every nerve ending bounced and sparked in a rapid succession of want, need, want, need, closer, more, closer still.

Jared kisses back filthy.

From the sensation and the noise of it, followed by Jared’s legs opening further, Jensen shudders.

Nearly worshipful, Jensen traces his hands up and down the length of the babydoll, from the edge of Jared’s hips all the way up to the swell of his inviting chest. The second his fingertips skim over sumptuous nipples, the humidity in the room rises and Jensen’s chest gives a squeeze.

Looking up, he asks for permission without words.

Nodding, Jared allows it.

With their hips lined up and cocks grinding together through fabric, Jensen leans down. He supports himself on the couch, the muscles in his arms flexing. Fueled by pure, rising, thundering desire, Jensen seals his lips over the nub. Using the babydoll, Jensen creates addictive friction, licking, sucking, rolling the nub between this lips and under his tongue. He flicks over each nipple, circling in heady, steady motions while simultaneously grinding his hips down.

Enthralling, tempting gasps leave Jared’s mouth.

Fierce fingers ruck up Jensen’s shirt, scratching in all the right places, leaving a trail that echoes one thing and one thing only—mine.

An ache rumbles through Jensen.

He remembers this. He remembers exactly how Jared tasted, how heavy and honeyed each creamy bead felt on his tongue.

“Jen!” Jared arches into Jensen, letting out a cry and heaving in a sharp inhale. “Oh!”

It isn’t just memory.

Jensen shoves the babydoll’s hem up. He plants wet, desperate kisses up Jared’s thighs, trailing up his stomach, leading all the way up to each sensitive peak. Jared clutches his shoulders, drawing him in, emitting noises that go straight to Jensen’s hard and heavy cock.

Two pulls of Jensen’s mouth and Jared releases a spurt of warm, decadent milk.

All Jared can do is toss his head back and push his chest up, closer and closer, begging for more.

There’s nothing in the world like this.

In just a few pulls, skims, and gentle scrapes, Jensen has Jared reduced to desperate, wordless pleading.

A suggestion occurs.

“Turn me over,” Jared pants, his fingers over Jensen’s throat. “Turn… me over.”

One last obscene smack of Jensen’s lips to Jared’s nipples and he does as he is told. With rough hands and a ruthless mouth, Jensen turns Jared over, draping him over the armrest. The babydoll rides up, the billowing edges framing Jared’s luscious ass.

Without warning, Jensen lays a commanding slap across the heavenly view.

Jared cries out and pushes back.

Again.

And again.

Jensen slaps his ass until it matches the color of the babydoll.

And only then does he grope the roundest part of Jared’s ass, squeezing the tender flesh under calloused hands, before spreading him out and diving in with his tongue.

He licks Jared open until he is soaked, seeping, and slick. Every swipe and push of his tongue increases in intensity, until he curls deeper and Jared is nothing but liquid in his hands.

The only rush is the ache in his entire body.

“Jen, please.”

And the ache in Jared’s.

“Ooooh… there… ah… Jen!”

Picking up the pace, Jensen rims the sensitive ring of muscle, lapping and slurping with fervor, making it loud, messy, and lewd.

One more euphoric slap to Jared’s ass and Jensen pops off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, nudging the bridge of his nose to Jared’s hip. Turn. Move. Anything. Because if he catches sight of how sloppy and wet he’s working Jared open, he’ll keep going that way and it’s not what Jared wants.

Unsteady, Jared manages to move, somehow shifting to straddle Jensen’s lap.

Strong arms drape over Jensen’s shoulders. Seductive hips press down over the tent in Jensen’s sweats. The babydoll swishes and flutters alluringly against Jensen’s chest.

Hazel eyes meet his.

Dimples flash. Jensen melts.

“Talk to me,” Jared whispers, kissing a trail up Jensen’s jaw. “Tell me something good.”

Apocalypse?

Nope.

Just Jared—enticing, divine, and all his.

All it takes is the shift of fabric, the roll of a condom, and the tilt of their hips. Jensen’s hands clasp over Jared’s ass, groping until the skin is coral once more. When the tip of his cock nudges against the saturated, tight muscle, he knows they’re done.

Short and sweet.

Nothing long or winding.

His voice drops to a growl.

“When the apocalypse does come.” Slide. Drive. Push inside. Grip. Clench. Moan. “I will…” Thrust. Inch by tortuous inch. “…rebuild our city with my tongue.”

Working Jared open, Jensen’s cock delves deeper and deeper into plush, searing heat and pressure. He shivers when the walls of Jared suck him in further, greedy and desperate. He buries his face in Jared’s chest, letting out a groan when Jared sinks down, swallowing and taking him to the hilt.

Buried.

Overcome by the sight, sound, and feel of Jared all around him. Nearly paralyzed by the friction, the first movement up and the proceeding bounce of Jared’s ass against his thighs. Up. Down. Up. Down. Twist. Tilt. Clench. The rhythm becomes brutal. Savage. Completely merciless. No longer delicate, the babydoll scratches and claws with every squelch and struggle. Up. Down. Up. Down. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back, Jensen grits out the next line.

“I will suck this world’s ashes from your fingers.”

Jared is lost.

He works himself over Jensen’s cock, pounding down, seeking the angle, chasing sparks and snaps of a voltage that threatens to shock.

Hips rock and roll forward.

Madly locked together, Jensen stills Jared, fucking into him on his efforts alone—one, two, three, one, two, three…

In a thunderous rumble, he recites the next line against the column of Jared’s throat.

“I’ll refuse to let the fires of this hell—be the only thing that makes us sweat.”

And the last, he grits out into Jared’s chest.

“When the apocalypse comes, so will we.”

Coiled, fused, bound together, Jensen hammers against a bundle of nerves, the muscles in his thighs and stomach working overtime, panting to keep up, working Jared closer and closer to the edge until…

“Coming!” Jared screams, seizing, gripping onto Jensen’s shirt, pushing his hips down and shaking. “Oh—fuck! Jensen! Ahhh…! Jen!”

Come coats the inside of the babydoll.

Dripping and contracting, Jared comes hard, gasping when he feels the twitch and swell of Jensen buried deep inside him. The throb of pressure, the spike in heat, and Jensen comes.

One day.

His right hand presses against Jared’s middle.

One day again.

Jared’s hand clasps over his.

Before slumping forward, Jared smiles, his hair wrecked and all coherence wrung out of him. But that’s okay. Jensen understands.

He can feel Jared’s pulse in so many different ways.

The hum of life.

Jensen could survive any apocalypse but this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW.
> 
> flexing my porn muscles. :D
> 
> poem from The Bones Below (thanks T!).


End file.
